THANKSGIVING

by Morrow Dowdle

AI-generated graphic by NightCafé for The New Verse News.

My four year-old comes into the bathroom where I sit. 

He turns the toilet paper roll slowly, says, It’s a nice day

for peeing. Thankful for the body and its routines. 

And so am I—thankful for emptyings and intakes,

 

the food soon to be had, then had for days after. Thankful

I will eat more than a side salad. Thankful this holiday’s lie

of peace between buckle-hatted colonists and Indigenous

victims is obsolete. Thankful we gather anyway. 

 

Thankful for what won’t be at the table—china and silver,

political scuffles, sullen drunks. The chain-smoking

grandmother’s green bean casserole. The pedophile

grandfather’s electric knife. White-knuckled silence. 

 

Thankful for the Peanuts meme my sister texts,

that after all the fallings-out, we’ve righted the rowboat

called Family of Origin. Thankful I’ve been back

on antidepressants for a week and feel like having sex again,

 

or at least a hug. That I can forgive myself for not missing

someone recently deceased, but feel the burn of grief

for those who do, light a candle at the empty plate. 

I can forgive myself for singeing the cranberry sauce

 

and buying the wrong-sized pie crust, and not extrapolate

that I’m a failure. See, I’ve been fumbling towards sainthood,

but now I’m aiming at stable and decent and good enough. 

Thankful to host rather than be hosted, to have more

 

than leftovers to offer. Thankful to prepare every room

for guests, to cross each threshold and see traces

of my persistence. Thankful my son gave me this poem

and that I could receive it, knowing there will be days ahead

 

when verse will flow like gravy, and days there will be none,

and my mind will feel stale as the cheap white bread

we use to make the stuffing. But there will be days. 

There will be days.

Morrow Dowdle (they/them) poet / arts organizer / curator "Weave & Spin" performance series and open mic (founder/curator/host) @morrowdowdle (Instagram)

JANUARY 11, 2016 — FOR ZIGGY

by Bill Hurley

David Bowie turned 69 recently.

I turned 69 recently.

18 months ago, David Bowie found cancer in his body.

18 months ago, I found cancer in my body.

Two days ago, David Bowie still had cancer.

Two days ago, I still had cancer.

Yesterday, David Bowie died.

Yesterday, I did not.

Instead, I woke up, ate some oatmeal, played the piano,

Went to a garden, photographed statues and banyan trees,

Sipped a latte while browsing through Dorothea Lange pictures,

Had lunch in a museum café, went to a jazz concert,

Then helped the sun set in a drumming circle on the beach.

Today, I woke up again and learned that David Bowie did not.

So what am I to do with this one more day?

And how many more will I be given 

Before it’s my turn 

To return 

To Stardust?

Bill Hurley is a retired video/multimedia producer and former broadcaster.  He is a frequent contributor to open mikes around Columbus, Ohio. His work has appeared in Common Threads, The Institute for Poetic Medicine, and he won the 2005 Thurber Treat award given by Thurber House for humor/parody writing. This year he is the humor juror for The Ohio Poetry Association’s Competition for high school poets. He recently was the featured reader at The Poetry Forum. He also is the MC for the annual Poetry at Perkins event at Ohio Wesleyan University. His collection, No Weeds in Wahkeena is available on Amazon.